McCallum Quintuplets (8 page)

“It would have, up until tonight,” Madeline told him, keeping her head front even as she kept watching him out of the corner of her eye. “And, if we're ever going to be able to talk to each other again, I think we have to talk about this.”

“No, we don't.”

“Don't, Ian, or
won't?
Which is it?”

Ian sighed as he turned into the apartment complex,
eased into his assigned parking space. He turned off the ignition, pulled out the key and looked at Madeline. “Nothing's changed, Maddie. We're still friends. I just kissed you, that's all.”

“Oh, really? Kissed me? Excuse me, but I think I remember having to rehook my bra.”

“Okay, that, too,” he said as they both got out of the car, headed toward their building. “We had a moment, Maddie. Your birthday, the wine, that outfit—your eyes. I don't know. It was a moment. Can't we let it go at that? Do we have to psychoanalyze it?”

“Yes,” Madeline said as he held open the door for her and she entered the building ahead of him. “I think we do have to psychoanalyze it. And you know why? Because we're friends, Ian. We've been friends for fifteen years, and I don't want to lose that.”

I don't want to lose it because your friendship is all I've got of you, all I could ever hope to have of you, and I figured that out years ago.
That's what she would have said, if she hadn't quickly bitten her bottom lip until she got a firmer grip on her emotions.

She dug in her purse for her apartment key as they headed down the hallway, but Ian grabbed her elbow, steered her toward his door. “Okay,
now
we talk. How in hell are you figuring that one kiss—yes, and one small grope—are going to cost us our friendship?”

Good question, and Madeline mulled it as, still holding onto her elbow, he opened his apartment door and just about pulled her inside. He probably deserved an answer.

“Sit,” he ordered, then gave her a lopsided grin. “Please sit.”

Madeline sat, remembering how she'd been sort of
sprawled
on this same couch a few hours ago, sending
out silent “Go for it!” signals in response to every move Ian made.

She hopped up from the couch, headed for the kitchen. “There's bound to be some coffee left,” she said, hoping there wasn't, because then she could make more, hide in the kitchen, delay the inevitable just a little bit longer.

Ian followed her, not giving her any time, any space, any wiggle room at all. He helped her take down two clean mugs, gathered spoons and sugar bowl. Then he carried the mugs into the living room, set them down on the coffee table in front of the couch. Or the COUCH. Madeline was beginning to think of that particular piece of furniture in capital letters.

But she sat down anyway, because obviously Ian wasn't going to let her go without drinking her coffee or having their talk. She held the mug with both hands, hoping the mug wouldn't shake, spill on her delicate raw silk slacks before the credit card bill even arrived in the mail.

“Okay, cards on the table,” Ian began, putting down his half-empty mug. “Here's how I see it. We've turned a corner in our relationship, reached a new level—something. I haven't figured out exactly what yet, but there's definitely been a change. What bothers me is that I'm not that shallow, dammit. I didn't jump your bones because of that outfit, or the eyes, or the hair. I mean, I didn't just look at you tonight, say
wow,
look at her, why not—and then go on the attack. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, you kissed
me
first.”

“Oh, brother! Well, there it is, isn't it? I knew we'd get to it. It's
my
fault? Is that what you're saying, Ian? That it's
my
fault? After all, it's my outfit, my eyes—my
hair.
And you're right, I did kiss you first. Shame on me! Well, let me go get frumpy again, so you don't lose control of your libido, okay?”

“Maddie,” Ian said, his voice low, his expression pained. “I'd really appreciate it if you listened to
everything
that I said. I admit it, you really threw me a curve tonight. I'd be an idiot not to admit that. But what I'm trying to say to you is that I saw this coming. I've seen it now for a couple of weeks. Why do you think you're wearing that bracelet instead of a telescope?”

“People can't
wear
telescopes.” Madeline shot the words back, knowing she was being deliberately dense. She stood up, began pacing in front of the coffee table. “A couple of weeks? Why?”

Ian laid his head back against the cushions, closed his eyes. “You don't remember? You don't remember crying all over me, telling me about your biological clock, about sperm donors, the whole nine yards?”

Madeline stopped pacing, felt the blood drain out of her face. “You volunteered,” she said, remembering. “But not nicely, as I recall it. What was it you said? Oh, yeah—don't go to strangers. My God, Ian, is that what you were planning to be tonight? My sperm donor?”

He shot off the couch as if one of the cushion springs had broken. “No! Dammit, Maddie, why are we having so much trouble saying what's on our minds? On my mind, anyway,” he ended more quietly, avoiding her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Ian,” Madeline said apologetically, trying to regulate her breathing. “Just tell me what you mean. I'll try to understand.”

“Thank you. Now, if I knew what I mean, we'd be in pretty good shape,” he told her, his smile just about breaking her heart. “Let me reiterate—I did not plan to be your sperm donor tonight. The only reason I mentioned that conversation was to help pinpoint the moment I
started thinking about you…differently. As if you were a woman.”

“I've
always
been a woman, Ian,” Madeline said, blinking back tears. “You mean you hadn't noticed?”

He put both hands to his head, stabbed his fingers into his hair—and ended by looking a lot like Adam McCallum had earlier, nervous, on edge, even frightened.

“The only way this could go any more badly would be if a clown popped up from behind the bar over there, holding a quacking duck in his hands,” he said miserably, and Madeline smiled in spite of herself.

“A duck? Why would the clown have a duck with him?”

Ian grinned. “Because all the chickens are busy laying eggs?”

Madeline laughed, feeling some of the tension ease out of the room. Maybe this was going to be all right. Maybe they could still be friends.

Of course, then Ian blew it….

“Here goes, Maddie,” he said, sobering. “I mentioned what happened a couple of weeks ago because I've been feeling like a selfish bastard ever since that conversation. Fifteen years, Maddie. For fifteen years, we've been best friends, or I thought we were. But we weren't. And you want to know why? I figured it out. You were my best friend, but I wasn't yours. I kept up my own life, my other friends—women. But not you. If it wasn't school, it was your internship, your residency and now the McCallum wing. You had time for two things, your work and me. Other than that, you had no life. Hell, your mother still makes your clothes because you can't seem to even find time to go shopping. And you can't do that because, when you're not working, you're cooking for me, doing my wash for me, hanging out with me. And then, with this
birthday coming up, you finally realized that you're watching your whole life go by without really living it. No man in your life, no kids. And it's my fault.”

Madeline had stood very still while Ian spoke, mentally watching him dig a hole into the carpet, just so she could throw him into it, cover him over with beige plush.

As he spoke, her temper built, then divided, doubled and built again.

“Are you through?” she asked when he stopped, looked at her like a puppy who needed a reassuring pat on the head. He was lucky she didn't take a two-by-four to him!

“No, there's more. I was sort of slowly working my way to the grand finale. What I'm trying to say to you, Maddie, is that I'm looking at you differently now, and I've realized that I—”

“I don't believe this,” she interrupted, starting slow, knowing she would be building on block after block of hurt and outrage. “Do you know how
stupid
you've just made me sound? Poor little Maddie, working and slaving, then coming home and working and slaving some more. I
cook
for you, Ian, because you'd starve otherwise, or your cholesterol would be through the roof thanks to your taste in food groups. Besides, I
like
to cook, and I like to watch you eat. I
wash
for you because my unit doesn't have a washer and dryer and yours does, so it's only fair that I do your wash while I'm doing my own.”

“Maddie, I—”

“Oh, no, don't interrupt me, Ian, because you started this, and now I'm going to finish it. You're right, at least about one thing. I have been too busy to have much of a life outside of my work. I knew that going in—you don't get to be a doctor, a specialist, just by wishing for it to happen. So I wouldn't have had much of a
life,
as you
call it, even if you weren't in it. If I chose to spend my free hours with you, with my
friend,
where's the crime in that?”

“Well, I—”

“I'll tell you where the crime is, you stupid…stupid
idiot.
The crime is that I knew what I was doing. From the beginning, I've known what I was doing. Do you think I was never attracted to you? In
that
way?”

“Attracted? Well, I—”

“Shut up! Yes, you idiot,
attracted
to you. For all the good that did me. You were the most popular guy on campus, remember? And you went through willing coeds like Grant through Richmond. Do you really think I wanted to be another notch on your belt?”

“Hey! I wasn't that bad,” Ian protested.

“Bad enough. Oh, you settled down, grew up, but you still go through women at the rate of two or three a year. Did you really think I wanted to be one of those women? I like you, Ian. I like you, I trust you, I'm comfortable with you—and, yes, I once thought I was in love with you. But you know what would have happened if I'd let you know that?”

Ian opened his mouth, closed it when Madeline glared at him.

“I'll
tell
you what would have happened. I would have been one of Ian Russell's women. Here today, gone tomorrow. I liked you too much to let that happen. So I settled for being your friend, your buddy, your pal. So now, fifteen years later—fifteen years too late—you're telling me you've suddenly started looking at me as more than your friend? You're looking at me as a woman? Well, bully for you, buddy boy, but you're too late. You're too damn late! Now, I've had a long day, a damn long day, and I'm going to bed. Alone!”

And then she made her exit, ruining it only by tripping over her three-inch heels and rolling over one ankle, so that she limped out of the apartment, wrapped in her righteous misery. Catherine Zeta-Jones probably would have been damn proud of her.

“Yeah, it's a bummer all right. Rain date's next Saturday? Sure, I can make it, partner. Uh-huh, uh-huh. Definitely a rotten break. I'm upset, too. See you, Gregg.”

Ian put down the phone and barely resisted doing a joyful dance as he went to the window, looked out at the pouring rain that had turned Sunday morning as gray as his mood had been—until he'd seen that rain. A bummer? A rotten break? He hoped he'd carried off his role of disappointment, considering he was probably headed for golfer's hell, as no golfer is ever happy to see rain.

He turned away from the window, eyed the clock on the mantel. Nine-fifteen. Normally, if he didn't have an early tee time, he'd be in Maddie's apartment right about now, happily downing one of her great breakfasts. Then he'd clean up the kitchen while Maddie showered and dressed—but probably no longer in baggy sweats, which he was already beginning to think he'd miss.

They'd fight over the newspaper—who would get the sports section first—watch the talking heads put their spin on the network shows, yell at the television set a little, sip coffee and nibble on whatever homemade breakfast buns were left over from breakfast.

In the afternoon, they'd go out, visit a gallery, window-
shop for stuff they didn't want to buy but liked to look at, grab a meal at one of their favorite restaurants—usually one with a drive-through window.

By the time they'd walked off lunch, maybe caught a movie, the pot roast Maddie had earlier stuck in the oven and put on the timer would be done, and they'd be able to smell the roasting meat, carrots, potatoes, onions as they entered the apartment building.

Dinner, some television, a cutthroat video game or two and then some homemade dessert, a kiss good-night on the cheek, and another Sunday would be over.

Man, he loved Sunday. A guy would have to be seriously crazy not to love Sundays with Maddie.

He patted his stomach as it growled in hunger, and headed for the kitchen, opening cabinets, swearing under his breath, opening the refrigerator door, sniffing the carton of milk inside and swearing some more.

He could have cereal, but without milk. Toast, but without jelly. And orange juice? Forget about it. Maddie squeezed her own oranges, fresh every morning. He hadn't bought a carton of orange juice in fifteen years.

Ian sat at the kitchen table, ran a hand over his mussed hair. And he realized something. It came to him slowly, but he realized something. Something that was probably very important.

He and Maddie sure did eat a lot.

But that wasn't it. That wasn't what he figured out. What he figured out was that food—Maddie's very good food—was a sort of
substitute
for something else. Eating was a sensual pleasure they shared, definitely, but was it also a stand-in for a sensual pleasure they denied each other, had been denying each other for fifteen years?

What
was
he hungry for this morning? Homemade cin
namon buns? Or Maddie? Fluffy scrambled eggs and a slice of ham? Or Maddie?

More important: what would he miss most if Maddie went out of his life? Food? No. Someone to watch sports with on television? No. Someone to nag him to take his vitamins? No. Someone to talk to about his love life? Definitely no, and never again.

He'd miss Maddie. Her smile. Her intensity. Her dedication to her work. The way he felt so comfortable with her, so damn comfortable, like she was the other half of him, the two of them halves of the same whole.

And she'd said, just last night, right here, where he could hear it, that she'd loved him. Once upon a time, Madeline Sheppard had believed herself to be in love with him.

Wasn't that a bitch?

How had he missed it? Where had his head been at the time?

“Probably up my—ah, hell,” Ian muttered, and padded toward the front door in his bare feet, wearing a faded gray T-shirt and gym shorts that had seen better days. Maybe he'd just get the paper, hide in basketball stats for a while and try to figure out life—his life, Maddie's life, their life together—some other time.

He opened the door, already bending to grab the heavy Sunday edition—and there was Maddie, one hand raised to knock on his door.

“Maddie?” he asked, looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. This was Sunday morning attire? Slim navy slacks, a fuzzy white angora sweater that went halfway down her thighs? A flowered scarf around her neck, tied low, at her waist? And her hair—once more pulled back off her face, but only some of it, caught up in two
combs, with her curls tumbling onto her shoulders. Venus on the half shell had never looked so good.

Damn.

“You're late,” she said, then turned on her heels—yup, she was wearing heels again—went into her apartment, leaving the door open behind her.

It wasn't a trail of bread crumbs leading to the gingerbread house, but it was close, and Ian decided not to question, but to follow where Maddie led.

He picked up the newspaper, then smoothed down his wrinkled T-shirt with one hand, tried to flatten his mussed hair and followed his nose, which told him that, yes, homemade cinnamon buns awaited.

He put down the newspaper even as he picked up the tangerine silk blouse, shook his head when he saw the wrinkles in it. Following the trail of bone leather boots, he found the beige slacks draped over the antique telephone stand and the gold chain necklace hanging from the one of the wall sconces Maddie had bought two years ago but had yet to fill with candles.

“I've never looked in your closets, Maddie,” he said after dumping everything on her bed and returning to the living room. “Is there anything in them?”

Maddie, who stood behind the bar separating the kitchen from the living room, looked at him, her expression pained. “You don't ever get tired of that joke, do you, Ian?”

“Not as long as you stick around for all the reruns, no,” he said, looking at the small table Maddie had set with two places. This was promising. She wasn't going to throw his breakfast at him, she actually planned on the two of them sitting at the same table, sharing their meal.

“Maddie, about last night—”

She held up her hands, including the one with the oven
mitt on it, cutting him off. “There will be no rehashing of last night. None. Either we move on, try to get back to where we were, or one of us is going to have to move to Alaska. You got that? Now come on. I've got to be at the hospital in a half hour.”

“I'll take you?” Ian half offered, half asked.

“Oh, really? And then who does the dishes?” she asked, carrying a platter piled with fluffy scrambled eggs and a mound of crisp bacon over to the table. “I think I can manage getting myself to the hospital, thank you. Now come on, sit down and eat before everything gets cold.”

Ian sat, but he wasn't hungry. He'd been starving, but he wasn't anymore. Still, he picked up his glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and the vitamin pill sitting next to the glass, and availed himself of both. If he didn't, he was pretty sure there'd be hell to pay, because Maddie, the best of good sports, could blow higher than the space shuttle when she finally let loose the reins on her temper.

“How long will you be at the hospital?” he asked as he scraped some scrambled eggs onto his plate. If she could pretend the world hadn't exploded last night, so could he, dammit. At least for another five minutes.

“I don't know. I phoned earlier, and Maggie had a restful night, or what was left of last night. She feels fine, there's no more spotting, and Adam has promised to wait on her hand and foot, and even tie her to their bed, if necessary, to keep her on bed rest. Zach will probably release her this morning when he makes his rounds.”

“That's good then, isn't it? I'm happy for them, although I wouldn't want to be either of them for the next few months, until those babies are born.”

Maddie chewed on a piece of bacon, then said, “It doesn't have to be a scary time, an awful time. They'll
be able to enjoy a lot of this pregnancy, if we can just convince them that, in the past few years, multiples are not just more common, but that we've learned a lot about taking mother and babies safely from conception to delivery.”

“But it's still scary,” Ian prompted, trying to keep her talking. If he could keep her talking, maybe he'd find a way to tell her what he'd tried to say last night, right before she'd gone into orbit.

“Well, I certainly wouldn't lie and say a multiples pregnancy is as uncomplicated as most single births, no. But multiple births have always fascinated me, you know that. What with both Mom and Dad being twins and everything. Dad's twin died at birth because of complications with the delivery, and he grew up an only child because his mother could no longer become pregnant. I never knew her, but Dad said she mourned until the day she died, and that's so sad. The moment I hit my obstetrics rotation, I couldn't help but zero in on multiples, on infertility, and I immediately knew I'd found my specialty.”

Okay, they were getting closer to the subject. She was talking babies.
Let's talk babies,
Ian thought. “I was wondering, Maddie. Since both your mom and dad were twins, what were the odds that you could have been twins, or could have twins of your own?”

She finished her orange juice, patted her mouth—she was wearing lipstick!—with her napkin. “There have been lots of studies, and there are probability charts, that sort of thing. Still, more often than not, my mother's folklore answer seems to be right on this one, that twins skip a generation.”

Ian coughed, cleared his throat, wondering if Maddie had missed a seed in the orange juice. “Skip…skip a generation? Does that mean you could have twins?”

Madeline shrugged. “Anything's possible, if I were to get pregnant.”

Ah, getting closer to the subject. “And you've considered that, Maddie? Having twins, that is. You know, I'd like twins. I think that would be neat.”

“Really,” Madeline said, and her look, and her tone of voice, told him he'd crossed a line. “Well, I have to go. You'll clean up? I shouldn't be more than an hour, but then I have to think about getting ready for Blake Ritter's open house. Are you going? I mean, obviously your tournament has been canceled?”

Ian's mood, which had been jumping around pretty spryly, zeroed in on righteous anger. “Ritter's? You mean to tell me you're still going? Dammit, Maddie, we have to talk. Not eat, not pretend nothing's happened.
Talk.
”

“Not if I don't want to,” Madeline told him. “I said everything I had to say last night.”

“Well,
I
didn't!” he yelled, but he was talking to the door that closed behind Maddie as she ran out of the apartment.

 

M
ADDIE CRIED
all the way to the hospital. She'd cried most of the night, so it wasn't as if this was anything new, but she was getting pretty sick of it.

Why had she thought she could get up this morning, make breakfast, act as if her world still turned on the same axis, moved along with the same routines that had been set in stone for fifteen years?

It had taken everything in her, every scrap of courage, to go across the hall to Ian's apartment this morning, tell him that breakfast was ready. But that's what she had to do if she had any hope of continuing their friendship.

She should have known it wouldn't work.

Not after she'd admitted to him that, yes, she'd once been in love with him.

Why had she said that? For one, it was damning information. And two, there was no
once
about it. She was in love with Ian. Had always been in love with him, would always be in love with him.

Either that, or she was a masochist. Maybe both—because, otherwise, why would she have forced herself to be content with a friendship—albeit the friendship of a lifetime—when what she had always wanted, needed, was his love?

Madeline parked in her assigned spot in the covered garage and walked toward the staff entrance, trying to pick a bit of angora from her tongue as she wondered, not for the first time, why she had bothered to put on another of her new outfits. She liked them, certainly, but who was she kidding? Take away the angora, the scarf, the slacks that really did feel quite good against her legs, and she was still Madeline Sheppard—thirty-five years old, an apple and single. Probably to remain single for the rest of her life.

Because no one could replace Ian in her life, not ever. Even if they could go back to where they'd been, be friends again, be comfortable around each other again. She'd been about as comfortable around him this morning as she'd be standing stark naked, in the dark, in a cactus field. Any way she moved, she felt exposed, and definitely in danger of getting hurt.

Ian probably felt the same way. Poor guy. When she wasn't angry with him, Madeline felt sorry for him. He'd been the victim of April's and Annabelle's makeover, which was probably quite an embarrassment for him. But that was men. They reacted to stimuli and always had.
Although it still shocked her that Ian could lose control just because of a tangerine silk blouse.

Maybe she'd have to think about wearing bright colors more often….

“Good morning, Madeline.”

She turned to see Zachary Beaumont coming toward her. “Rounds done so soon, Zach?” she asked. “How's Maggie McCallum? I was just going up to check on her.”

The obstetrician shook his head. “Our patient is fine, her babies look great on the ultrasound I ordered this morning, but the husband looks like he needs a long nap. Poor guy, he gets to worry about both his wife and the babies. Maggie is concerned only for the babies and doesn't think about herself at all.”

“Isn't that always the way it is?” Madeline said, patting Zach's arm as she leaned forward, hit the button to summon the elevator. “Mothers are always oblivious to their own possibilities for complications. Maybe it's nature's way of keeping them strong and focused on getting those babies safely to that delivery room?”